


stop me if you’ve heard this one before

by keptein



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Identity Porn, M/M, Mild Power Play, Record store au, Twitter, thirst follow au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3243338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/pseuds/keptein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>@RufousK - whom Koutarou followed on Twitter in a shameless moment of pure thirst - walks into the record store Koutarou works at. It's all downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stop me if you’ve heard this one before

**Author's Note:**

> so. i've never written smut before. hopefully that isn't too obvious. shout out to cole, who laughed at my joke suggestion to write bokuaka thirst follow au and thus forced me to actually do it. thanks. a real thanks to bishop and shannon for everything, and to hans who gave me smut advice (and isn't even in this fandom). title is paraphrased from the smiths' song _stop me if you think you've heard this one before_.

There’s a guy flipping through the vinyls around the L section. The record store is almost empty except for him, Koutarou killing time by clearing up some of the mess behind the counter, and he seems to be taking his time looking for the LP he wants. The stereo’s playing _Mastodon_ ’s new album, because no one’s here to yell at Koutarou for the shit he puts on, and the guy is kind of nodding his head along to it. There’s something familiar about the way his hair falls, the wavy black curls, but Koutarou can’t place it until the guy turns around and goes back to the S section.

Then he’s very sure who he’s dealing with, because he would recognize that ass _anywhere_. Which, when he thinks about it, is probably unhealthy, and more than a little creepy - he didn’t realize he’d stared at @RufousK’s pictures that much. Koutarou doesn’t feel like he can be blamed for that, though. RufousK is damn handsome on Twitter, and he doesn’t disappoint in reality, either. Koutarou almost slow-whistles under his breath until he remembers Kuroo isn’t here to stop him.

Finally, RufousK approaches the counter, a Smiths album in his hands. Koutarou tries to think of some cool hand signal or something that would tell RufousK who he is, but there’s no hand signal for _Hey you followed me on Twitter and I thirst followed you back but I never expected to meet you_. He takes the plastic-wrapped vinyl, drumming his fingers against it. “Good album! Gotta have it remastered, am I right?”

RufousK looks at him, and holy shit, his eyes are _piercing_. Koutarou wants to get all up in that. Where’s the cool hand signal for _that_ , huh? “I guess,” he says, and his voice is both milder and deeper than Koutarou expected, without becoming completely monotone.

“I’m Koutarou,” Koutarou says, going for a suave smile.

“I know,” RufousK says, and Koutarou’s heart starts to beat faster, until he says, “you’re wearing a name tag.”

Koutarou looks down. “Right,” he says, then laughs. “People don’t usually notice, the amount of times I’ve been called Guy With The Hair here.”

“It is a characteristic feature,” RufousK agrees. “I’m Keiji.”

“Cool,” Koutarou says, and finally rings up the Smiths album he’s been holding in his hands like an idiot. “That’ll be two thousand yen.”

RufousK - _Keiji_ , now, and it feels weird to know what the K stands for - hands him the money and nods when Koutarou asks if he wants a plastic bag.

Koutarou watches him leave and sighs, pulling out his phone for some masterful vaguetweeting, even though he usually doesn’t tweet about stuff not sports-related.

**@VBALLINEVERYDAY**

_Just missed out on a huge chance………. Damn!!!!_

*

It’s weird checking his twitter now, knowing that @RufousK’s name is Keiji, that he lives nearby, and that he listens to the Smiths. On vinyl, even, which isn’t a surprise at all in retrospect. He almost tweets at him several times, ranging from _I’ve seen you around!_ to just _HEY HEY HEY!!_ , but he chickens out every time - too much time has passed, and Keiji has over a thousand followers on Twitter. Koutarou doesn’t want the reply to be _Who are you?_ or, even worse, _This is creepy I’m blocking you_.

So Koutarou keeps on doing his thing, dividing his time between volleyball, work, gym and friends so he doesn’t have much time to think about astonishingly hot guys on the internet. He still favorites @RufousK’s tweets every so often, though, even the silly, personal ones about his revived interest in owls.

Koutarou’s back in the shop the next time he sees him. Tsukishima’s just gone to the backroom to check stock for Taylor Swift, which all the desperate hi-fi dads are getting for their daughters now that Christmas is looming. Because there’s more than one person in the store for once, Koutarou doesn’t see Keiji until suddenly he’s next in line, holding out a _Death Cab for Cutie_ album.

“Hey, you’re back!” Koutarou says enthusiastically, completely forgetting everything he’s ever heard about playing it cool.

“Koutarou,” Keiji says, and when Koutarou meets his eyes, they’re just as naturally intense as last time, slowly sweeping over him.

It’s one of the most blatant once-overs Koutarou’s ever gotten. His smile settles into a smirk, hoping his cheeks aren’t too red to ruin it - but then he remembers the whole _I follow your NSFW Twitter_ thing and fumbles with the vinyl in his hands. “Good album,” he says, although he can’t remember the last time he listened to it. “I think we have it in SACD too, if that’s your jam.”

There’s a slight pause, before Keiji says, “Is SACD anyone’s jam,” so dryly that Koutarou starts laughing.

“You’re right,” he says. “I don’t even know why I asked.” He rings up the album and takes the money from Keiji, handing him the bag. “One Death Cab for Cutie,” he says, winking, because badly flirting with people as hot as Keiji is just second nature at this point.

Keiji’s lips curve slightly. “Thank you,” he says, and leaves.

That night, @RufousK tweets some of the best pictures he’s ever taken, and the caption reads _I’m in a good mood_. Koutarou stays up for a long time thinking about both parts of the tweet.

*

“Hey,” Tsukishima says about a week later when they’re cleaning up. “Some guy asked after you today.”

“Who was it?” Koutarou asks, trying to rearrange the CDs in alphabetical order after some kids came in and messed with them.

Tsukishima shrugs and shifts his grip on the mop to adjust his glasses. “Average height, Kei something. He bought _Alt-J_.”

Koutarou laughs. “On vinyl, right? That’s not even a good recording,” he says. “It’s Keiji, I’ve seen him around. Did he want something?”

“No, he just asked if you were in,” Tsukishima says. “You weren’t.”

“I know that,” Koutarou says grumpily. He can’t stay down for long, though, and he starts humming a tune as he sorts the CDs. Keiji asked about him - Keiji totally thinks about him. That’s pretty damn awesome.

*

The thing with having a record store is that you get a handful of loyal regulars, who ask for recommendations and recent releases, and a lot of one-offs. Keiji’s been in three times, which is already more than most, and Koutarou knows he can’t really hope for any more than that, but he still looks up every time the bell rings.

There’s two weeks of nothing - there’s another Beatles re-release, which is one of the most boring things in the universe - then the door opens around two o’clock on a Tuesday and Keiji walks in.

The store is empty except for him, Koutarou between the shelves trying to stave off the boredom by tidying, so he has a great, uninterrupted view when he enters. Keiji is wearing black slacks and a crisp blue shirt rolled up to his elbows, his hair more in order than usual. He looks competent and important, like he’s going to tell someone off for not doing their job correctly, and he looks really, really hot. There might be a correlation there, but Koutarou doesn’t have time to analyse his own psyche right now.

“Hey!” he says, hurrying up to the counter. “Long time no see.”

“Hello,” Keiji says, and looks at him. Koutarou can’t stop staring at his forearms. They’re very attractive, and the blue against Keiji’s skin is gorgeous.

“Huh?” he says, after realizing that Keiji’s been trying to say something.

Keiji sighs, but he’s smiling. “You’re distracting,” he says plainly. “Can you take a break?”

Koutarou makes a show of looking around the empty store. “Man, I dunno, big demand right now,” he says.

Keiji rolls his shoulders in a slow shrug that makes the shirt flutter by his clavicle. Koutarou wants to bite it. “You must have a bathroom,” he says. His eyes are hooded.

Koutarou shivers a little. “That we do,” he says. He gestures for Keiji to follows him, and shouts as they pass the back room, “Tsukishima, you’re on counter duty!”

“Not at _work_ ,” he hears Tsukishima groan, but Koutarou is confident he’ll man the counter for ten minutes.

Keiji backs Koutarou up against the wall of the employee bathroom, and then they’re kissing - hot, deep kisses that Koutarou feels in the tips of his fingers. He pulls at Keiji’s shirt so it becomes untucked and he can put his hands on the skin of Keiji’s lower back - it’s as soft as it looks, and Koutarou strokes it before gripping it to pull Keiji closer.

Keiji’s kisses are biting, never painful but domineering in a way that surprises and excites Koutarou - still, he’s not giving up so easily, chasing Keiji when he pulls away to breathe. Keiji moves back further, denying him, and Koutarou frowns, opens eyes he doesn’t remember shutting. What he sees is Keiji smiling, looking at him before he looks down and starts to work at the buttons on Koutarou’s uniform. When he flicks his eyes back up to meet Koutarou’s, Koutarou shivers and laughs, bringing one hand up from Keiji’s waist to scrub at his face. “Man,” he says, “you’re fun.”

Keiji hums, unbuttoning Koutarou’s shirt. “That’s not something I often hear,” he says. His voice is low, rougher than Koutarou’s ever heard it outside his own dreams.

“Clearly you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people,” Koutarou says, and shrugs out of his shirt as soon as Keiji’s unbuttoned it fully. Keiji is biting his lip when he looks back, teeth white against his reddened skin.

His hand skims down Koutarou’s chest, following the grooves Koutarou has worked so hard at, and Koutarou can’t help a disappointed sigh when Keiji’s nimble fingers completely bypass his nipples.

“You’re shameless,” Keiji says, almost chiding, but he’s still smiling a little.

Koutarou shrugs. “Makes things easier, doesn’t it?”

“Certainly,” Keiji says, and rubs one thumb over Koutarou’s nipple.

Koutarou grins, even as his heart beats faster. “Told you,” he murmurs, bending slightly so he can finally bite at that collarbone, his hands making their way down Keiji’s chest and unbuttoning his shirt until he finally reaches his belt buckle. Keiji puts a hand on his nape, guiding his head when Koutarou kisses up along the side of his neck, while his other hand goes into his pocket and presses something into Koutarou’s hand. He lifts his head to look down at it, and once he sees what it is - a packet of lube, already warmed by Keiji’s body heat -  he bursts out laughing. “ _Really_?”

Keiji smirks quietly, not even a touch embarrassed, and it’s possibly the hottest things Koutarou’s ever seen. “I knew why I was coming here,” he says.

“Holy shit,” Koutarou says, and pulls him back in for another kiss, holding the lube in one hand while he works Keiji’s pants open with another. “You are ridiculous. How did I not know? You’re absolutely _ridiculous_.”

“Are you complaining?” Keiji asks, and Koutarou shakes his head firmly, still smiling.

“Not at all,” he says. He finally gets his hand on Keiji, palms him with his hand still dry, and enjoys his slight hiss - but he doesn’t know if he actually wants Keiji ordering him around just yet, so he quickly rips the packet open and spreads the majority of it over his palm.

“Tell me how you like it,” he says, fingers spread wide, familiarizing himself.

“You’re doing good,” Keiji says, his hands stroking over Koutarou’s back before he rests one of them on his nape again, the other over Koutarou’s shoulder and against the wall to keep his balance. Koutarou wonders if Keiji knows he’d fall to his knees if Keiji put just the slightest bit of pressure on his neck. It’s probably for the best that he doesn’t.

Still, the thought makes his face warm, and he rubs two fingers along Keiji’s dick to distract himself, Keiji’s stuttered moan more than reward enough.

Keiji isn’t very loud, but both of them are panting a little by now, the small bathroom warm and smelling of them, and the blood is rushing in Koutarou’s ears too loudly to hear anything clearly - he puts his head against Keiji’s cheekbone, licking and biting absently against his jaw, concentrating on the dick in his hands. He bites the flesh under Keiji’s ear and Keiji _jerks_ in his hands, his whole body twitching.

“That’s a thing, huh?” Koutarou says, grinning widely, and Keiji looks at him, his face flushed but clearly still trying to keep his cool. He doesn’t say anything. Koutarou whistles innocently, about to do it again, and the hand that was on his neck fists in his hair, dragging him close into a hard kiss. He goes with it, thumb stroking over the head of Keiji’s dick - Keiji’s grip slackens, and Koutarou moves his head, biting down again at the same time as his hand moves quickly, while his other hand fondles Keiji’s balls.

Keiji comes with a stuttered gasp, throwing his head back and gripping Koutarou’s hair so hard he almost sees stars before the grip loosens again. Koutarou nuzzles the line of this throat, waiting for Keiji to come down. When he moves again, his gaze meeting Koutarou’s, his eyes are glassy and unfocused for a second before he blinks, the calm, collected look returning to his face. He grabs Koutarou’s wet hand in his and intertwines them for a second, taking the disregarded packet and squeezing the rest out into his palm. Then he gestures for Koutarou to turn around.

“Uh, I don’t know -” Koutarou starts, surprised at his own presence of mind, because it feels like everything is Keiji right now and there’s no way he could refuse. Keiji snorts and shakes his head.

“Not here,” he says, as if he’s above fucking in a bathroom, and that thought distracts Koutarou enough for Keiji to turn him around, his hand opening the zipper on Koutarou’s pants and pulling out his dick.

“Shit,” Koutarou hisses, because Keiji is too fucking good at this already, and he has to brace himself against the tiles to keep himself up.

His heart is pounding, and he stares at Keiji’s pale hand against the red of his dick, the sight almost too hot to bear - he looks at the tiles instead, dingy stuff that they really ought to replace, but Keiji’s chest against his back is warm, his arms around him warmer. His moans are bouncing off the tiles, amplifying in the small room, and Keiji’s mouth is resting against his neck, a hint of teeth and tongue like Koutarou needs a reminder that he’s there. He lifts it, Koutarou feeling the absence of that wet heat immediately and acutely, and says, “You’re too loud,” even as he twists his grip on Koutarou’s dick. Koutarou inhales sharply and then stops breathing - Keiji exhales in surprise, the cool air on spit-wet skin running a thrill down Koutarou’s spine, before he laughs softly.

“Rude,” Koutarou says, red with embarrassment and arousal, and Keiji licks a line up the side of his neck, blowing on it. Koutarou shivers, putting more of his weight on the wall because he’s starting to think his legs won’t hold him up - and then Keiji pinches his nipple at the same time as his thumb draws a hard line over the ridge of his dick, and Koutarou’s entire body shudders as he comes, closing his eyes hard, teeth clamping down on his lower lip so he doesn’t embarrass himself again.

He leans back against Keiji, but he’s not tall enough for Koutarou to rest his head on his shoulder, so he turns around to lean on him properly, still breathing hard. He wants to kiss him, wants to stay in this dingy bathroom forever, but Keiji’s laughing, and once Koutarou’s ears start working properly he hears why.

It’s muffled through the door, but the unmistakable chorus of _I Just Had Sex_ starts up, and Koutarou groans into Keiji’s shoulder, even as he starts laughing. “How unprofessional,” he says, “Tsukishima should really know better.”

Keiji waits until Koutarou’s lifted his head to look at him before he lifts his eyebrows and looks around the bathroom.

Koutarou laughs harder. “Alright, alright,” he says, and pulls Keiji into that kiss he’s been wanting ever since they separated - Keiji lets him take charge, lips soft and slack against Koutarou’s. When they finally part, Koutarou grimaces. “I should probably get back to work.”

“So should I,” Keiji says, picking Koutarou’s shirt up off the floor and handing it to him before he goes over to the sink to wash his hands. Koutarou accepts the shirt as a lost cause and starts wiping himself off - he’s pretty sure there’s a couple of spares in the back room, and once he’s somewhat presentable, he hurries out of the bathroom to grab one quickly. Keiji is still buttoning up his shirt when he comes back, looking so unruffled Koutarou wants him all over again, but he’s legitimately worried about Tsukishima’s patience running out.

“Give me your number,” Koutarou says, quickly, looking at him. “Please.”

Keiji gives him a small smile as he buttons the last button in his throat. “Yeah,” he says. “That sounds good.”

Koutarou hands over his phone, looking on eagerly as Keiji types in his number, and he saves it. He knows he has to tell Keiji about the whole Twitter thing, but not right now - he wants this moment to stay like it is, because there’s no guarantee he’ll get this again.

He sure as fuck hopes so, though.

When they finally exit properly, Tsukishima looks up from the counter and pulls a brief face. Koutarou gives Keiji one last kiss, flipping Tsukishima off - it’s not like they have any customers - before he lets him walk to the exit, one hand raised in goodbye.

“Your hair is ruined,” Tsukishima says. “And you smell.”

“Deal with it,” Koutarou says cheerfully, and finally turns off that Lonely Island bullshit.

*

Still, though, the whole Twitter thing totally puts a dampener on the encounter, the memory of Keiji’s warmth against his back souring in Koutarou’s head as the day moves along. He wants to see Keiji again, wants to do all kinds of stupid things with him and buy him owl knickknacks and brag about him on the Internet, and he knows he has to confess for any of that to happen.

When he comes home, he can’t even eat dinner - his fingers are too jittery for reading, and he knows he could run himself ragged without this restlessness going away. If he doesn’t want his entire week to be moot, there’s really only one thing he can do.

Koutarou pulls out his phone and takes a quick picture of himself, frowning in apology, and doesn’t bother looking at it before he tweets it.

**@VBALLINEVERYDAY**

_I’M SORRY!!!! @RufousK http://pic.twitter.com/OysiZYPx8f_

He feels like he’s going to throw up. Instead he throws his phone from hand to hand, gets two apples to juggle along with it while he waits for a reply - he’s never been good at juggling, though, and his phone hits the floor more than once, Koutarou swearing every time. The fourth time it does, the screen’s lit up with a new mention. He unlocks it with sweaty fingers.

**@RufousK**

_@VBALLINEVERYDAY I knew I recognized those abs._

Koutarou stares at it in confusion, trying to understand whether he’s forgiven or if Keiji never wants to see him again and regrets ever meeting him, when his phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. He throws himself on his couch, answering it before he’s really sure he wants to.

“Hello?”

 _“This is odd,”_ Keiji says, matter-of-factly. _“How long have you known?”_

“From the start,” Koutarou says, covering his face with one hand although Keiji can’t see him. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause, before Keiji says, _“it’s fine. It’s kind of amusing, actually.”_

“Why?”

 _“I’ll tell you in person,”_ Keiji says. _“Do you want to have lunch with me tomorrow?”_

“Hell yes,” Koutarou says, and he’s pretty sure his grin can be heard over the phone.

 _“It’s a date, then,”_ Keiji says, and hangs up on Koutarou’s wordless sounds of confused joy. What an asshole. Koutarou can’t wait to brag about him on Twitter.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr as [asexualtobio](http://asexualtobio.tumblr.com). i have accepted my bokuto problem, so please come talk to me about him. owo


End file.
